


The boy and the beast

by shortstack (nimbleCustardlegs)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Based off of a chat with a friend, FUCK, I might write more actually?, Sort of AU?, but not much tho, hmmm, i don't know how to tag, i'm actually really proud of this, idk - Freeform, its actually got a lil bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 12:35:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4706240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimbleCustardlegs/pseuds/shortstack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, a man named Peter Corvelt moved into a house. This house just so happened to be next door to an abused little prince. This is their story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The boy and the beast

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know exactly what this is, but I'm trying. First work on here, and first in just over two years! Thanks for reading, and leave a Kudos/comment if you think it was worthy! I m ight add another chapt er at some point c:

The first thing that Harry learnt about his new next door neighbour was that he ended up sleeping outside a lot. And, because Harry spent a lot of time in the garden, he figured this out fairly quickly. He felt sort of bad for him. So far, Harry had figured out he lived alone, and that no-one really visited him. So, with an apple in each hand and a burst of nerves, Harry crept over to the fence and hopped over it. The man was sitting on his bench, asleep. Harry shyly went over and shook his shoulder, quietly holding out one of the apples. It was the start of an amazing friendship. Harry, of course, didn’t know that people his age weren’t meant to be friends with adults. It didn’t matter. Peter Corvelt was Harry Potter’s first, and best, friend.

When Harry was nine, when he and Peter had been friends for six months, the man finally let him into his house. Harry was so happy he exploded one of Peter’s vases. He had just shrugged, cleaned up the glass, and told him “I never liked that vase anyway.” Harry had hugged him, and, for the first time in his life, he got a hug back.

A few weeks later, Dudley and his gang were playing another game of ‘Harry Hunting’ and the tiny boy was running. He had glanced behind him to check how close they were, but rammed straight into something warm and hard and very familiar. He slowly looked upwards, to see Peter’s face looking down at him, a concerned frown pulling at his lips. Just then. Dudley’s gang, led by the fat pig himself appeared around the corner. Peter had shoved Harry behind him, having listened to all of Harry’s stories about Dudley. With crossed arms and a half-raised eyebrow, he had protected Harry from Dudley and his gang.

When Petunia Dursley looked out of her kitchen window, she expected to see her nephew on his knees, tending to the weeds. Instead, she found the garden empty. She suspected he was behind the big oak tree in the shade. She stalked outside, prepared to give him an earful. But, to her surprise, he wasn’t there. Quite suddenly, bright, high-pitched laughter came from the garden next to hers. She turned, and what she saw made her face tighten. Her nephew was sat next to their next-door neighbour, the one she had been trying to befriend (okay, perhaps something else) for months now. And the man was laughing! Because of that… Freak! She stormed over to the fence, leaning over it. “Oh, dear, Harry. What have we said about disturbing the neighbours?” She said cloyingly. “It’s fine, really. I can look after him for a while.” Cut in the man, Parker? Peter. That was it. “Oh, no, you don’t want to do that. Really, he’s a troubled little bo-“ She was cut off again by Peter. “Honestly. I’ll look after him for a bit.” And that was the end of that conversation.

That fateful day, Dudley’s birthday, even though Mrs Figg had broken her leg, by that time, Harry was basically living with Peter anyway, so it didn’t matter. He had stayed with his best friend, and they had a great day. One thing that had really surprised Harry was that Peter loved baking. Often he was ask for Harry’s help and they would bake brownies or flapjacks or something similar, and Harry would get to eat them! And Harry never had to cook by himself, but he would help and they would sit and eat together. The first time he had set out two plates, Harry had asked who the second one was for, was Peter having a friend over? And his jaw had set, making Harry a little bit scared. But then he was smiling again, gently guiding him over and sitting him down. Harry ate as much as he wanted for the first time.

When Harry got his Hogwarts letter, the first thing he did was hide it down his oversized pants and, after dropping the rest of the mail off with Vernon, disappear over the garden fence and into Peter’s garden, and then into his house. He was glad Peter had started leaving his back door unlocked, because the boy loved joining him for breakfast. The man was making eggs for the both of them. He had pulled out the letter and asked what it meant. After reading it over several times. Peter had pulled him into a hug and told him it meant he was special. They had eaten their eggs while discussing the pros and cons of going to this school. Eventually, Harry decided that yes, he would go.

A few hours later, Peter had taken Harry shopping for some proper clothes (I.e, clothes that actually fit and that Harry likes)

Three days after that, Professor McGonagall had come to number four, Privet drive with the intention of revealing to little Harry that he was a wizard. When the door was answered, Petunia had taken one look at her and snapped “He’s next door” Before slamming her own door in the witches face. After getting over her shock, she turned, walked down the path, and then back up the one next door. She took a moment to wonder why exactly the young Potter was not at his aunts house. But then she knocked, and it took a few moments for whoever was inside to come to the door. It was a little boy, with raven hair and bright green eyes. “Peter! Someone’s at the door!” He had called back into the house. It took her a few moments to recognise this little boy. He looked so happy, and his eyes danced with mischief. And then this Peter fellow came from within the house. For a moment, she had thought little Harry had called for Peter Pettigrew. But no, this man was nowhere near that tiny, beady-eyed, snivelling child. He was tall, much taller than her, with messy, dark blonde hair falling into his brown eyes. Eyes that danced with the same mischief as the little boy. “Hello, who are you?” He had asked politely. “My name is Professor McGonagall. I’m from Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

After almost two hours of questioning, both from man and child, the professor took them into Diagon ally to collect Harry’s things for school. Both of them had the same look of wonder and awe as they looked around. It took them twenty minutes just to get to Gringotts. When they came out, they were both grinning brightly from the cart rides.

When Harry got home from his first year, he was greeted by Peter instead of his Uncle at the station. In the car on the way home, he had explained that Harry’s relatives had moved away, leaving Harry with Peter. It was (mostly) legalised. On the 31st of July that year, Harry James Potter became officially the adopted son of Peter Liam Corvelt. Harry said it was the best birthday present ever.

When Harry came home from his second year, he had rushed to hug Peter tightly, buried his face into Peters chest, and didn’t move for several minutes. In the car ride home, Harry told Peter everything that had happened that year. Peter had wanted to pull him out. Harry had protested, and then they went out for ice cream.

When Harry came home from his third year, he had hugged Peter tightly and then tugged him to the car, eager to get back home. That summer was also the first summer Harry called Peter ‘dad.’ It had made him cry just a little bit, but that was okay, because Harry had cried too.

When Harry came home from his fourth year, he had collapsed into Peters arms and cried. Peter hadn’t asked what had happened, he didn’t need to. Harry told him in the car, still crying. They ended up falling asleep on the couch watching shitty romcoms until midnight.

“He’ll target you, dad! I can’t let that happen, I have to leave!”  
“I can take care of myself, squirt. It’ll take a whole lot more than a creepy asshole with a stick to get me down.”

When Harry came home from his fifth year, Remus Lupin had gone over to Peter and explained what had happened while Harry tried not to cry in his dads arms. (He failed, but that was okay.)  
Luckily, because he had Peter, Harry dealt with his grief the right way. For that, Harry was grateful. Honestly, he didn’t know what he would have done if he hadn’t had support.

Harry never did come home for his sixth summer. Peter spent it in constant worry, unable to sleep or eat properly.

For Peter, the seventh summer was spent much like the sixth, only he didn’t know what to do with himself. Nine days into the summer, he drove into London and went into a cage fighting ring. He won sixteen fights, and lost four. He went home bloodied and lonely, to an empty house.

When Harry finally did come home, Peter hugged him tightly, muttering at him to “never do that to me again, squirt” and Harry had laughed, tears streaming down both of their cheeks. Hermione had tugged Ron away. “This isn’t for us to watch, Ron”  
“I love you, dad.”  
“I love you too, Harry.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks if you made it this far, and if you enjoyed, leave a Kudos!  
> -Dan


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